


A Domestic Man

by BannedBloodOranges



Category: Return to Treasure Island (TV 1986), Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Comfort, First Time, Frustration, M/M, Mild Angst, Need For Release, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 18:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BannedBloodOranges
Summary: "The closeness was frustrating, a comfort and a chore, and Silver seemed to expect it, as natural as anything, but at the same time, he seemed to expect nothing of the other kind of closeness, promised with an awkward thrill when Jim had kissed him only a few months ago and burnt all his bridges with his lips alone."





	A Domestic Man

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a very loose sequel to Weeds for Flowers (Song for The Sirens.)
> 
> Non Profit Fun only.

 In the weeks since they had fled port, the wind had not been fair.  A foul breeze had pressed ugly on the sea, parting ways to a noxious maelstrom. Silver's new ship was finer then any Jim had sailed on before, but was built for speed and discretion as opposed to comfort, and so the Captain's cabin was smaller still and even as fine as it was, it didn't stop the rain dribbling through the cracks in the portholes.

Thanks to the storms, it was rendered dank, and Jim had expected to sleep in the bowels of the ship with the crew. However, the first night Silver had taken him in, they had shared the cabin with food and drink, and it was only when Jim went to rising did Silver say, with pure confusion, where he thought he was going.

Silver was a big man and took half the bed with ease, and Jim, more than a man himself, slept uneasily on his side. The reality of what he had left behind - poor Isabella, his mother, his commissions - weighed heavy on his mind, and made sleep slight and testy, and it was a struggle to barely enough keep still, let alone with Silver spread and snoring nearby.

The anxiety ate away at him, and it was a constant prayer that the guilt would subside. But Jim knew better. It would always be there, as potent as the nightmares that still haunted him about Treasure Island, despite the cause and root of the nightmares sleeping sound beside him. The closeness was frustrating, a comfort and a chore, and Silver seemed to expect it, as natural as anything, but at the same time, he seemed to expect nothing of the  _other_ kind of closeness, promised with an awkward thrill when Jim had kissed him only a few months ago and burnt all his bridges with his lips alone.

Silver had been married before. Jim knew this, had heard the rumblings among the crew on that first fated voyage about the dark in Long John's eye at the death of a devoted missus, and Silver had spoken of her, once, warm with affection and guilt, to Jim's close friend Abed Jones, but Jim knew no more than that, and did not press the issue, for he knew the pain associated with it.

But Silver _had_ been a married man. A domestic man, at one point, how odd the thought was, and Jim wondered if that was why he lay there, so comfortable, how he expected next to nothing. That for him, the companionship was enough, that he'd lived long enough and seen enough to not expect that kind of activity anymore, how blush-worthy the idea was, but Jim was in his  _twenties_. A man prime in his life, prime in his frustration. Three months ago, he was due to be married, to take part in God's conventional way to quell his frustration. But his anxiety, his guilt, his heat, had not left and was spiked with his shame, a shame he did not think he even had to voice, and so he slept on his side, flat on his back and stiff as a board, pleading for sleep to steal it all away.

But sleep did not come, and as the storms persisted and rocked the cabin, so did Jim rock in the bedclothes, until even deadwood Silver woke with a snort, and shifted over to glance blearily at him.

"Why Jim," he said, his voice too clear in the dark (and Jim wouldn't be surprised if he had been awake before, and had listened to the gnashing of his teeth.) "You got a rash, have you?"

"No." Jim wasn't in the mood for humour, and by the looks of things, neither was Silver, although his eyes were awful bright. He couldn't think of anything else to say; his fingers twitched, the sheets dragged around his knees, and he was awake with a dull ache in his limbs and eyelids. "I cannot sleep."

"That be true, that be true." The great beast of Silver's head nodded in the dark. "Why, you've been rustling for nights now."

The silence grew between them, as did Long John's smile, beaming across his broad, bearded face, and Jim twisted in the blankets, a hand through his mussed hair.

"Don't make me say it, John," he said, his skin prickling with sweat. Long John just lay there, trunked chest visible beneath the moonlight lapping through the windows, marred by the dreg of the outside storm.

"Say what now, Jim?" Silver spoke smooth and pleasant, although amusement was threatening to break through, and Jim saw the hunger then, soft and well disguised. "All this tossing, say I. Makes me ponder, it does. You have an itch, do you?"

This wasn't a game. Jim was tired of games, tired of his worry and the work of his brain, his body bursting to the seams with it, and Silver lay there, as he always did, waiting for Jim to come to him, to breach that hesitation and  _take._

Jim's hand came to rest on the bulk of Long John's shoulder, and squeezed, tight. Long John grunted with the pressure, and shifted just so, opening his lap, and the sudden reality of it hit Jim and burned him right through.

"Look at you, now!" Silver laughed. "Why, such a blush I never did so, Jim. Are you certain, now?"

"Yes," Jim replied, hoarse, working through the shudder in his body. Silver noticed, for his hand found Jim's, and interlocking their fingers, urged Jim onto his single knee. Jim complied, irritated at his own inexperience, irritated further by the fact he didn't know where to start. But a kiss was a good start, he knew enough about that, so he crossed the space between them, and took Silver's mouth, which was laughing still, and was all too hot and scratched with bristled hair.

Silver hummed along Jim's lips, keeping his tongue behind his teeth in a tease, his large hand resting on Jim's hip, another in Jim's hair, before the fingers closed and  _yanked._

Jim winced with the sting, groaning into Silver's mouth, and then, did Silver kiss him, a filthy kiss, taking Jim's teeth and tongue and lips almost into him, and struggling as he might, Jim tried to return it. He was fully on Long John's lap, the churn of all his horrors peeling back his metaphysical skins, and it was as if Long John were massaging them all out, laying the young man on his back, taking Jim's hand and his and sliding it between them.

Jim attempted to push back, to square himself against the barrel chest and single leg, but Silver chortled at the effort, and Jim could not move him and found as Silver tugged at his buttons, that he did not want to. Jim lifted himself below Silver, kicking out of his breeches. They were crushed together now, chest to chest, the space appearing littler then before, and Jim tore off his shirt, flinging it away. 

"Ah, youth, Jim, youth!" Silver's palm was steady on Jim's bare stomach. "It don't take me so quick anymore. Give me a moment, now."

The ensuring moment passed a little slow, as Silver turned away, fishing about in a compartment Jim could not see. Impatient, Jim ground up against Silver, and yes, as always, the man was a liar, for what he felt was a direct contradiction to Long John's previous claim. Silver snapped back at him, growling in the pits of his throat. The whites of his eyes and teeth sparked like diamonds.

"Easy lad, easy!" He laid off an inch, giving Jim space to shift and see him eye to eye. "Why, you be too eager, say I, for this to be your first blessed time. Be careful what you wish for, lad."

"I know what I want," Jim's response was undeniably strong. The touch of Silver, the sweat and stir of the sheets, was quelling the uproar in his head, and he wanted more, to block it all out. 

"Do you now?" Silver chuckled, a little darker then Jim would like, and he held up a small bottle between his finger and thumb. "Come on up now, lad. I not be as young as I used to, by the powers, and if you be so eager, why not try your luck, hm?"

Jim stalled, glancing between the bottle and Silver, who lowered it with tutting of his tongue. Jim was fearful, for a moment, that he would stop, but the fear was misplaced, for Silver explored his thighs, his skin, slipping his short, strong fingers below Jim.

The oil, the pressure, the sensation of Silver. Jim clutched at the sheets, the damp of the storm filling his lungs, his breath rattled and short. His bravado faded, as did his resistance, as Silver smiled at him, dangerous in his affection. Jim's heart and head became tenderised with the pull and push of Silver into him, his body the only thing that spoke, in those moments, and all inside him was quiet, and still, and the peace of it prickled Jim's eyes.

Silver exclaimed with the effort, panting light, and if he knew the effect on Jim, he did not say but instead pulled the young man up his lap. Jim, by instinct, moved of his own accord, his forehead lain in the shade of Silver's shoulder, his fist caught and twisted in the buccaneer's shirt. 

Beneath the whispers of his breath, Jim could hear Silver cursing, murmuring all sorts of fanfare as Jim sped up, the building pressures a delicious tax on them both. Jim gripped at Silver, an arm around his neck, another bunched into his back, anchoring himself against him. His control was beginning to falter, as was Silver's, and suddenly, the concept of what he was doing - what  _they_ were doing - ripped in Jim like a wound. A cry awakened on his lips, but Silver's hand was on his hair, stroking back to the scalp, so simple and steady, it was, and Jim stilled, shook one last time, and between them, the heat and shame came and went, and the storm rolled to a halt.

* * *

 

The sun was gentle on the sea calm against the bow. Silver smoked his pipe, observing the gulls flash by the porthole in bursts of pearl feathers. His blankets he had cast off, and tucked under the man curled into his side, arms flung up on the pillows, face as serene as the new weather.

 Jim Hawkins was sleeping at last.


End file.
